Mediterranean crossing: When the voyage is more adventurous than planned

A text by Timo Spanholtz

Friday evening at home with sailing friend Christian. Over a glass of wine, our conversation once again centres on a new boat. Christian is the owner of a Symphonie 31 in the Netherlands. I sail a Hunter 36, which is moored on the Costa Brava. Together we trawl through various Internet boat portals. I would like to expand. But it shouldn't be a new boat, on the contrary. I'm thinking of a moderate long keeler, with a classic crack and a boaty interior.

Suddenly an advert: Najad Aphrodite, built in 1989, three previous owners, for sale due to age. Everything about this 51-foot ship, of which only eight were built in the ketch version, seems to fit. A few days later, contact is made with the seller and a viewing appointment is arranged. The appointment is successful, an agreement is quickly reached and the purchase goes smoothly. There is just one problem: the "Papagena" is located on Lemnos, an island in the northern Aegean. But she has to go to my berth in Empuriabrava, Spain. That is 1,300 nautical miles away. Transport over land is out of the question for the ship, which weighs 25 tonnes and is over 17 metres long. So it has to be transferred on its own keel, and quickly. The summer holiday is just around the corner.

Exploit the opportunity to cross the Mediterranean

I briefly bring the option of a professional transfer crew into play, but am thwarted by sailing friend Christian: "When would you ever have the chance to sail a boat across the Mediterranean! He's right, so we change our plans and do it ourselves. Even if I feel a little queasy. I don't yet have 1,000 nautical miles of sailing experience and have never spent several days travelling as the skipper in charge. And the 14 days of holiday that are available are not exactly generous considering the distance to be covered. Nevertheless: We'll do it!

As "Papagena" has berths for six sailors, four other people are to tackle the crossing in addition to Christian and me. They are quickly found among my friends: My music teacher Leo and his wife Sidonie immediately agreed. They want to launch their self-built 40-foot sloop in a year's time and then live on it completely. The husband of a colleague is also enthusiastic about the project. The same goes for my goddaughter, who has just returned from an Atlantic crossing on a windjammer. She will join us for the second part of the trip and take over from Christian, who will then have to return.

All in all, an exciting bunch of rather inexperienced sailors. Is that enough to take an unknown boat across the Mediterranean? I decide to hire at least one professional and book the experienced skipper Jan David Kamenz. Better safe than sorry!

The final preparations

In the four weeks remaining until the start, packing lists have to be drawn up and spare parts procured. We don't know what condition we will really find the old lady in. Obtaining spare parts or having repairs carried out on Lemnos is almost impossible due to the limited infrastructure there. Besides, we don't have time. We have to get the ship moving in order to keep to the tight schedule we've set ourselves. So on a sunny Wednesday evening in June, I'm the first to land on Lemnos. With me: a good 50 kilograms of luggage.

On board the "Papagena" I immediately start with the cruise preparations and the Provisioning. Skipper Jan arrives the next day so that we can use Friday for a thorough inspection of the boat. All systems are working.

Almost exactly 1,100 litres of fresh water and 800 litres of diesel are stowed. The Aphrodite has two separate Volvo D2-75 engines, so when the rest of the crew arrives another day later, we are ready to set sail. It is early Saturday morning when we cast off the lines in the harbour of Moudros - not knowing what we will experience in the coming days. Probably, no: definitely, it's better that way!

Cast off for the transfer

At first, everything looks like a smooth journey. After a short breakfast and a lengthy briefing for the crew, the 17 metre long old lady is brought to life. Both engines start up without a hitch and the first casting off manoeuvre is perfect. Then we set course for 192 degrees. Unfortunately, the sails remain down and the Meltemi, which normally blows reliably at this time of year, is surprisingly absent. So we leave the autopilot to steer and enjoy the calm ride.

The luck doesn't last long: after half an hour, the autopilot displays an error message and summarily cancels the service. When we handed over the boat, the autopilot installed on the quadrant was still working. We briefly discuss whether we can manage without the technology. The crew say that Erdmann, Columbus and Shackleton didn't have an autopilot, so we can manage it too. Well then! From now on we steer by hand.

We have barely got used to the new circumstances when there is a sudden outbreak of hectic activity and shouting on board. Heavy smoke billows out of the engine room and quickly spreads throughout the ship via the owner's cabin. Strangely enough, however, it does not burn the lungs. It smells more like water vapour in the ship. We stop the engines, then I decide to climb into the engine compartment with a head torch and a damp cloth in front of my face to find the cause. It quickly becomes clear that no fire has broken out. Instead, the fire extinguishing system in the engine compartment has been triggered, causing an aerosol capsule to explode.

After some puzzling, it becomes clear that a fellow sailor has apparently had a mishap. He must have reached the remote release switch for the extinguishing system unnoticed in the cockpit when he wanted to get an iPad. This was plugged into the 12-volt socket located right next to the trigger for charging. Fortunately, we are able to repair the damage caused by the extinguishing agent explosion with on-board equipment and restart the machines. In doing so, we immediately encounter the next problem: the starboard engine is leaking oil. We switch it off to be on the safe side.

Three breakdowns in the few hours we've only been at sea - I hope it doesn't continue like this. I quickly suppress the thought and prefer to look at what lies ahead.

Course from Greece towards Spain

As we start in the northern Aegean Sea of the eastern Mediterranean, we first have to reach the Ionian Sea from the Saronic Gulf, which stretches between western Greece and southern Italy or the east coast of Sicily. Since the late 19th century, ships have been able to use the Corinth Canal for this purpose. This saves the 100 nautical mile diversions around the Peloponnese. The canal, completed by Hungarian engineers in 1893, is three and a half nautical miles long but only just over 20 metres wide. It was closed for a long time due to a landslide. It was only reopened a week before our departure.

After 36 hours under engine power, we reach the eastern entrance to the Corinth Canal at midnight. The first mooring manoeuvre is due - at night and with an overtired crew. Skipper Jan gives instructions, distributes the crew and performs a perfect manoeuvre between a tugboat and a catamaran. Although we had previously booked the passage online, it suddenly becomes 60 euros more expensive when we book, leaving a sizeable hole in our on-board coffers at just under 400 euros. But the subsequent night passage is breathtaking: the canal is illuminated on both sides - and narrower than you would imagine. On both sides, rock faces up to 80 metres high tower into the night sky. On the bridges far above us, the headlights of cars pass by eerily.

After the canal passage, we head for the Gulf of Corinth beyond. High time for a good night's sleep. I lie down in the saloon berth and close my eyes.

Torn from sleep

Unfortunately not for long! Breakdown number four abruptly wakes me up: Jan wakes me up in the middle of the Golf because the remaining port engine has gone silent. After the initial scare, it turns out that the main tank, which holds around 400 litres, is empty. Unfortunately, the fuel gauge didn't tell us this; it must be faulty or at least highly inaccurate. We therefore neglected to pump diesel from the reserve tank in time. We are now rushing to do this.

It's just a pity that that's not enough, the pipes have naturally drawn air. So now we also get to practise bleeding the engines - at two o'clock in the morning! With the thought "Another lesson learnt", all those on watch crawl back into their bunks.

We refuel in Patras, then continue our journey towards Kefalonia. The Ionian Sea finally offers a hitherto rare guest: Wind! It freshens up and we set sail for the first time. The engine is allowed to remain silent.

A stroke of luck during the transfer

Another day draws to a close, the wind dies down and Kefalonia comes into view ahead, where we want to anchor. So we start up the port Volvo again - only to switch it off again less than an hour later, startled. The sound of the engine had suddenly changed audibly and the shaft was rubbing against the port, water was leaking into the boat through the stuffing box: breakdown number five! Without further ado, we start the starboard engine, which has actually been taken out of service, in order to complete the few remaining miles to the stopover. Dimitri, an engine expert we find on Kefalonia, realises the next day that one of the four engine mounts is broken. He is able to find and fit a replacement part by the next lunchtime. Once again, we have a stroke of luck!

However, we hadn't factored the forced break into our schedule. So we only have 48 hours left to cover the next 300 nautical miles to Catania. Christian has to catch his plane home there, and my goddaughter is waiting for us. It will be two sporty legs, but in the end we make it to Italy on time.

However, this leg does not go smoothly either: as the wind picks up en route, we unfurl the mainsail and genoa on the two-master and add the mizzen for support. A sailing mood sets in. Laughter, sun, watches - everything seems perfect. But then a strong gust hits and the mizzen sail is no match for it. A loud bang makes the crew flinch. The clew has been torn out. The cloth, which is obviously getting on in years, flaps wildly back and forth and has to be recovered. We continue our journey under main and genoa. We just shrug our shoulders at the thunderstorm front that then approaches. At least we now know that our functional clothing is waterproof and that thermal underwear for the night watches was not a bad idea.

New challenges and quick reactions

The following day in Catania is dedicated to crew changes and errands. Christian, with whom everything began, leaves the ship. He is replaced by Elisabeth, who previously travelled the Atlantic on the university three-master "Argo". At just 17 years old, she has more miles in her wake than the rest of the crew! With a stern wind, we then sail in the shadow of Mount Etna through the busy Strait of Messina and on past the Aeolian Islands. There is also a lot of shipping traffic there, and there are numerous fishing nets to avoid, some of which are poorly lit. The crew quickly get back into the rhythm of things and the mood is once again buoyant. What could possibly go wrong now?

Unfortunately, the answer is not long in coming. In the early morning of our twelfth day at sea, we reach the eastern entrance to the Strait of Bonifacio. Here, between the north of Sardinia and the south of Corsica, we are immediately confronted with a strong wind. The wave running towards us makes steering difficult - especially without the sails raised due to the freshening wind. The anticipation of Bonifacio, our last refuelling stop before Spain, drives our eyes too far ahead to spot the narrow crevice that marks the entrance. Clear the way for mishap number seven!

A noticeable and audible incident snaps us out of our thoughts. In the faint light of dawn and the ups and downs of the waves, we have obviously overlooked the marker buoy of a fishing net. Now we drive straight into the mesh with two propellers running at 1,800 revolutions per minute. There are several rumbles. Shortly afterwards, large pieces of polystyrene float up aft, which were probably attached to the net as floats. The sonorous sound of the engines gives way to a grinding noise and irregular humming. We switch off the engines in a flash.

Now everything has to go quickly. Adrift in the Strait of Bonifacio, unable to manoeuvre in these weather conditions, is anything but ideal. I have to dive to free the screws from the net. To do this, we first pull a long line across under the hull so that I can hold on to it under water. Shortly before the jump with the diving knife on my leg and another line around my body, skipper Jan takes me to one side and warns me not to drift off. There's no way I can be picked up again as long as the boat is caught in the net!

I jump into the cold water with a correspondingly queasy feeling. It's dark under the boat. But I quickly find the screws wrapped in lines. It takes me a good 20 minutes to free them. Shortly afterwards, I'm sitting in the cockpit wrapped in a towel, slightly chilled and trying to enjoy the spectacular natural scenery of the harbour town of Bonifacio on Corsica despite everything.

Stopover in Bonifacio

Unfortunately, all the berths are taken. So we immediately go alongside to the petrol station pier to fill up with diesel again. We also use the break to take another look at the rudder bearings and shaft drives as well as the engine mounts. Meanwhile, my friend Leo and his wife Sidonie hurry off to get hold of at least a few French pastries in the town before we set off again and continue our journey westwards.

It promises to be exhausting. The weather apps are forecasting that the mistral will hit us on the last leg to Empuriabrava. So now it's time to gain height and head north. This extends the route by around 280 nautical miles. In the best-case scenario, however, it will allow us to sail a layline later instead of having to cross.

When, 26 hours later, we turn south-west 45 nautical miles south of Toulon, the wind is still light. However, there is already a sizeable wave from the Gulf of Lion, putting us into a kind of washing machine mode. Thank goodness it soon freshens up. The "Papagena" reaches a speed of up to 10.7 knots.

The journey is gradually coming to an end. We complete the last stretch mostly under sail at an average speed of just under six knots. Then we reach the Spanish coast near Estartit at the southern end of the Bay of Roses. I feel proud that the boat is now in its new home territory. I know every stretch of coast here.

After almost exactly 13 days, eleven of them at sea, we arrive at the marina in Empuriabrava. My family is already waiting there, and Christian and his loved ones have also arrived. The welcome is warm and we embrace happily. We have actually made it. All the mishaps and breakdowns are soon forgotten.

What to look out for before a transfer - tips for imitators

Taking over an old and basically unfamiliar boat from an unfamiliar area and then taking it across the entire Mediterranean in less than 14 days - is this a heroic plan or simply a crazy idea? The answer depends primarily on the following factors: the experience of the crew, the condition and equipment of the boat, the complexity of the sailing area and the level of preparation and planning.

In our case, apart from the owner, all the crew members were rather inexperienced. At least there wasn't a real greenhorn among them. And I could assume a good group dynamic. Nevertheless, I made the right decision to hire the professional skipper Jan Kamenz, who gave us a great lesson "free of charge" for many hours at sea. The presence of a doctor - myself - and a medical assistant would also have ensured medical care in the event of an emergency.

The boat's equipment was outdated, but basically adequate. The Najad has a radar, two plotters, an AIS transmitter, and the on-board systems functioned perfectly with a few exceptions. Rigging, standing and running rigging, hull stability and keel bolting are generally not a problem for Swedish shipyards built in 1989. The engines had been serviced and the sails, although old, were in acceptable condition. In short, we could hardly have expected so many defects and breakdowns.

This might also interest you:

• Troubleshooting on board: these 10 tricks will help with any boat breakdown
• Fire extinguisher test: How to extinguish burning lithium batteries
• Yacht valuation: When the valuer gives bad advice